It Could Only Happen in New York
by M. Pond
Summary: "It couldn't have happened anywhere but in little old New York." -O. Henry. When Jeff's life gets turned upside down, one girl makes it her task to show him that life isn't quite so bad after all.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the first Community fanfiction I've written but I love the show so I decided to give it a go. It was only supposed to be a one-shot but it got a little away from me so I've divided it into two parts. It's AU and, as you can probably guess from the title, is set in New York.**

Jeff is going to make partner.

Jeff is going to make partner and he's going to be the youngest partner in the history of the firm. He is going to make partner and then he's actually going to have time to appreciate things like the flash car he bought last year but has barely driven because he doesn't haven't anywhere to go except the office. Once he's made partner, all those nights where he fell asleep slumped over his desk at three in the morning will finally be worth it. He is going to make partner and he'll get the respect he deserves because he'll be a damn partner. He'll get the corner office that he's been eyeing since day one and his picture will be on the website. His mum will be proud and she might just stop whining about how desperate she is for grandkids. Because he'll be partner and something like that trumps him being in his mid-thirties and childless.

Jeff ignores the fact that he doesn't actually have a law degree, and that he got to where he is based on little more than blagging and bullshitting. He also ignores the fact that he sometimes wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, convinced that he's going to be found out and that his whole carefully constructed life will collapse right in front of his eyes. Because he's got this far without anyone suspecting anything, and his bosses love him, and all the whispers around the office are saying that they're days away from announcing the new partner, and Ben told him that said whispers are saying it's going to be him.

So he keeps right on working, clocking up as many billable hours as he possibly can. He takes on any case and is pretty sure that he left his ethics behind a long time ago. He represents huge corporations and doesn't even flinch anymore when he's made the lead on a case like the one he's working on right now. He's representing Cobol, this oil conglomerate who is accused of bribing government officials out in Nigeria to get their hands on hundreds of acres of farmland that's supposedly a lucrative source of oil. He sees pictures of houses being torched, and of armed soldiers all but dragging families away, and he doesn't feel a thing. He thinks that he would have at one time but not anymore. On his first day at the firm, some jumped up associate, who has long since moved on, had shown him around. He had tuned out almost everything the guy had said, figuring that if he had managed to get this far by himself, he didn't need some little shit who wore the worst-fitting suit that Jeff had ever seen, telling him how to do things. But one thing had stuck in his head. The guy had told him that 'caring is lethal around here. It's a disease.' He didn't realise he had taken it in until he was representing some schmuck who been over the limit and smashed into another car. Because when he'd stood in the courtroom, looking over at the woman who had been in the car and who had almost lost her baby, he had realised that he was right. He couldn't care. So he doesn't. He forces himself not to care every time another one of his closing arguments means some scumbag is let back out onto the streets. He forces himself not to care as he screws a distressed family out of the money they so desperately need from a lawsuit. He forces himself not to care as he drives past the protestors who are outraged over the ruling he has helped bring about. He can't let himself care.

He discovered that the trick is not to think about it. He submerges himself in case files and depositions until the early hours of the morning, when he's too tired to remember the devastated faces as a judge reads out a not-guilty verdict while him and his client celebrate. He wakes up in a sleepy haze that's so thick that he can't remember the mother slapping him across the face outside the courtroom after he successfully defended his client against her accusation that it was his company's fault that her son would never walk again. By the time he is actually capable of conscious thought, which is around his third cup of coffee, he's already sat at his desk with another bunch of files to read through, and the cycle starts again.

Because Jeff is pretty sure that if he did let himself think about it, let himself remember all the trash he helped go free, that he would hate himself.

So he doesn't think about it, and instead he goes on representing every client that's passed his way, sometimes pulling the most insane arguments out of thin air, all in the name of making partner. He's given his life to the firm and he isn't giving up until it's paid off. He can't remember the last time he had a decent night's sleep. He can't remember the last time he had a weekend to himself where he actually got to explore the city.

And fuck, he can't remember the last time he got laid. It's been six- he stops and counts backwards - _ten_ months since him and Britta broke up. Jesus, tenmonths. Their relationship had been fireworks and all that shit when they had first started out. It was her passion that had attracted him to her. So when their relationship had reached its inevitable end, he had expected it to come with a bang. They were both as hotheaded as each other, and that should have meant an explosive break-up. But the passion and - love wasn't the right word. He wasn't sure he had ever truly loved her. Hell he wasn't even sure that he actually believed in love. Well whatever it was that had made them work to begin with, that had vanished from their relationship. And the end came with a damp fizzle rather than a bang. They had been curled up on the sofa, half watching a re-run of House on one of his rare evenings off, when she had told him that they both knew that this wasn't working. She had said it so casually, as if she was asking what he wanted for dinner, that he'd had to ask her to repeat it. She had, and rather than arguing with her and trying to convince her to stick with their relationship as he had expected to, he had found himself nodding and agreeing. And it felt like a huge weight off his shoulders. He had realised, a week later in the middle of a meeting, that he had been expecting the break-up for weeks. He was always working so he never even got the chance to see her. He'd missed her birthday to spend the night in the office with the other associates, trying to find this key piece of evidence for an upcoming trial. He'd finally called her at around two am, almost falling asleep on the floor, surrounded by papers and empty take-out containers, and she had brushed off his apology as if it was nothing. It had dawned on him that she had never even been expecting him to make it. Their break-up had simply been a case of when rather than if, and which of them would have the guts to do it first.

They had parted on amicable terms and the little voice in Jeff's head can't help but wonder whether he should have tried for some form of friends with benefits arrangement. Not that he would have ever had time to take her up on it if she had agreed. He'd always thought that being a lawyer would be some big, glamorous job where he would be required to do little more than wear flash suits, wine and dine potential clients, and spend his evenings picking up women in bars. Hell the entire reason he had decided to blag his way into becoming a lawyer was because it was the most prestigious job he could think of. However, then he'd started at Hamish &Co and he had realised that it was a lot more work that he had expected. And he could have done less. He could have slacked off with the likes of Ben who did the minimum amount. But he had discovered that there was something about it that he liked. The buzz he got from winning a case, or coming up with the exact argument that he knew would kill the prosecution, was indescribable. And somehow it became his life. Five years later, here he is, a thirty-five year old associate at one of the biggest firms in New York, on the brink of becoming partner. He's so close to having it all and he isn't giving up.

A knock on the door distracts him from his thoughts and he sighs as he realises that he's been daydreaming for a good ten minutes, which is about $100 of time he could have billed to Cobol if he had been focusing. Hell he'll bill it to them anyway and just write it off as time spent researching or something.

"Come in," he calls out, opening a file to make it look like he has actually been working.

The door opens and Alan Connor, one of his fellow associates and one of the few guys Jeff spends any time with in this place, pokes his head around the door.

"Tango!"

"Sundance!" Jeff replies, forcing a smile onto his face so as not to give away just how tired he is. Alan's one of the other guys up for partner and there is no way in hell that Jeff is giving him the satisfaction of knowing that these 80 hour weeks are getting to him. "What are you doing skulking around my office?"

"I've been sent to tell you that the big kahunas upstairs want to see you."

Alan's voice is strained and there's a tightness to his smile, like it's killing him that he's the one who has been sent to get Jeff. And Jeff can't help but think about the rumours that are flying around the office, that it's between him and Alan over who'll make partner.

He stands up, shrugs on the crazily expensive jacket of his crazily expensive Armani suit, and pats Alan on the back as he passes him, throwing a "thanks, man" over his shoulder as he goes.

The long dark corridors are littered with people who are rushing to and from different departments. A law firm isn't exactly one of those places where people have time to stand around chatting, not when your time is measured in five-minute segments, and five minutes wasted is $50 down the drain.

But as he walks by them, he notices that some of them are taking the time to stop and nod at him, even throw a small smile his way. Those rumours are playing even louder in his head now, and he wonders if they know something he doesn't. He stops in front of the elevator and waits a little less than patiently for it to arrive. This could be the day that his life changes. He knows that he looks as calm as hell on the outside, because he's Jeff Winger and he doesn't show people when he's nervous as fuck, but inside he can't help but freak out. Just a little. The realisation that all his years of work might be about to pay off, it's overwhelming.

The elevator announces its arrival with a small ping, and he steps in, thankful that there are only a couple of other people in there. Pulling his Blackberry out of his pocket, he tries to look as casual as possible as the elevator travels between the various floors. Bejeweled keeps him amused for the minute or so it takes for various people to get on and off and for him to finally make it to the top floor that's home to the bosses. He shoves the phone back in his pocket and aims for a sort of casual nonchalance as he walks down the corridor. And he knows he's pulling it off because he spent weeks practicing that walk back when he was 15. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone.

Amanda, Ted Hamish's secretary, is sat behind her desk as usual, typing something up. She is most definitely Jeff's type, blonde hair and a killer figure, but everyone knows that Ted's been having it off with her for years so she's strictly out of bounds.

"I got told that Ted wanted to see me," Jeff says, casually rapping his fingers on the top of the mahogany desk.

"Yes. I'll see if he's ready for you."

She buzzes through to Ted and announces his arrival. It only takes a moment for him to tell her to let him in, and she nods at him, giving him a small smile.

Taking a deep breath, Jeff pushes open the heavy door and enters the sanctum of Ted's office. Maybe he should have thought to tell one of the desperate to please newbies to run out and get him a bottle of champagne before he came up here.

* * *

Disbarred. The word makes Jeff feel nauseous. Dis-_fucking_-barred. He can't quite believe it. He's tempted to pinch himself to see if this all a fucking dream but it's been so long since he actually slept well enough to dream that he knows it can't be.

"Shit!"

The word escapes his lips without him even realising, and a woman walking past shoots him a disapproving look. He wants to tell her that shit is actually a pretty restrained outburst for him to be having right now, bearing in mind that a variety of different swear words seem to be playing on a loop in his head, but he thinks that would make her think he was even crazier.

He wants to scream, swear, kick, scream some more and break something. He wants to find the little rat that discovered his secret and sold him out and punch them. He wants to drink himself into a very huge stupor and then scream some more. But right now he's sort of frozen on the steps outside Hamish &Co, and he's pretty sure that the pretzel vendor on the corner doesn't actually sell alcohol. He knows he should move, that if he turns to look back at the building, he'll see people staring out of the windows at him, and that security will probably come along any minute to make it clear that off the property means off the steps. But he can't actually move. It hasn't all quite sunken in yet.

He'd gone into Ted's office, pretty confident that he was about to be told that he had been made the newest partner. He had already been planning the phone calls he had to make, the new suit he was going to buy to splash out on, and which club he was going to go to to celebrate – whichever had the hottest women – before he had even sat down. Then he had seen Ted's face, the most serious expression he had ever seen gracing it, and he had felt this coldness taking over his body. He felt like he had back in eighth grade when he had been called to the head's office and been told that they had discovered he had cheated on the maths test. Only this time it was a hundred times worse. The meeting had been something of a blur and he had only taken in fragments of the conversation – "misrepresented your credentials," "falsified documents," "not eligible to practice law," "fired and disbarred."

If he had thought that was bad, it was nothing compared to the two security guards that showed up. They had escorted him from Ted's office, back down the corridor and into the elevator. Whispers and nosey looks followed him all the way back to his own office, as everyone speculated why he was with security. He'd been told to pack up everything that was his, which turned out to not be very much, and then he had had to conduct the walk of shame. Walking back down the corridor, clutching his embarrassingly empty box of personal effects, as his colleagues watched and whispered, was almost certainly the worst moment of his life. He was determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing him crack, so he forced an indifferent expression onto his face, and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself screaming in rage.

And that was how he came to be sat on the steps of his now former workplace, in a $6000 suit, with absolutely no idea what do next. This morning he had been days away from being the youngest partner in the firm's history, and now he's going to be the story that his colleagues pass between their friends. The guy who faked his way into becoming a lawyer and got found out.

"Fuck."

He kicks the step and drops his head into his hands. His heart is pounding and he feels like he is going to throw up at any minute. He's given the past five years of his life to that firm and he's been left with nothing. No other law firm will touch him now, and he's no idea what else he can do. He doesn't think he can face four years at college attempting to get his undergraduate degree. It would be embarrassing and he'd skipped out on the whole college thing because it seemed too much like hard work. He's thirty-five, unemployed, has no qualifications to his name, and has just been fired from a company that would definitely not be giving him a reference.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he takes a deep breath and forces himself to stand up. He knows that everyone will still be watching him, waiting to see if he breaks down, and he isn't going to give them that satisfaction. He scoops up the box that is next to him and forces his legs to start moving in the direction of the nearest subway station.

The streets of New York are crowded, as always, but Jeff walks through the crowds as if he is in a dream. It's three o'clock on a Thursday. He can't remember the last time he had been outside on a weekday afternoon. He forces himself not to think about the fact that there is an associate meeting starting in half an hour, one he was supposed to be in, and he also forces himself not to focus on the fact that he's going to be the main topic of conversation in that meeting.

Disbarred. It's like a drum beat in his head.

When he had first started at the firm, he had been convinced he was going to be found out. Every time someone knocked on his door, he was certain he was going to be hauled upstairs and fired on the spot. He had been so panicked that he had spent one afternoon memorising the name of every law professor at Columbia, just in case. He had kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to be discovered, and somehow a year passed. As the months continued, the fear started to disappear. He was one of the most successful attorneys at the firm and no one ever even asked him where he went to college, let alone asked for the name of a professor. Bigger and bigger cases were being handed to him, and he stopped worrying so much about being discovered. Everyone believed that he was a lawyer just like them, and they had no reason not to. By his third year at the firm, he figured that it didn't really matter if he wasn't qualified since his case record spoke for itself. Sure there were still those nights where he woke up certain that he was going to be found out, but then he just had to remember his latest great closing argument, or the bonus he'd been given, and the fear dissipated. No one had any reason to suspect he had lied, and he had come to believe that he would never be found out.

Disbarred.

He feels sick. His head is spinning and he can barely breathe. He stumbles down the stairs into the subway station, scans his travel card on autopilot, and wanders onto the train that's just pulled in, not bothering to note whether it's the 1 train that he needs to get back to his apartment.

The noise and the fluorescent lights are almost unbearable, and his head is pounding like he's just woken up after drinking an entire bottle of scotch. But he hasn't had a single drink. It's like the hangover without the fun of being drunk beforehand. He clenches his fists as dark spots dance in front of his eyes, nausea rising as the reality washes over him. He's been fired. Everyone at the firm knows that he's a fraud. They'll be sending emails to each other, gleefully informing those who don't already know of his downfall.

He can't breathe. His tie feels like it's strangling him and he tugs at it, fighting to loosen it. But it still feels too tight and he ends up pulling the thing off and throwing it into the box, ignoring the looks he garners from the other passengers.

He sits on the train in a sort of daze, not even bothering to register the different stations that the train passes through. As the train continues on its way uptown, his heart begins to feel less like it's about to jump out of his chest, but his head is still pounding as the reality of his situation washes over him in waves. He still wants to find the little shit that sold him out, but the sinking realisation that there's no one to blame but himself isn't helping things. There's an annoying little voice in his head, which sounds worryingly like Britta, telling him that if he had bothered to go to college like everyone else then he wouldn't be in this situation.

He wonders how many drinks it's going to take to shut that voice up.

The train comes to a stop at 72nd street and two things register in Jeff's mind. The first is that the 1 train doesn't stop at this 72nd street station, which means he got on completely the wrong train, and was paying so little attention to where he was going that he walked to the wrong subway station. The second is that the man who just got on looks very familiar. Jeff stares at him, trying to place him, and then that sinking feeling is back.

It's Tom Shepherd, one of the senior partners at the firm, and he looks angry. His brows are furrowed and he's clutching his phone tensely in his hand. Jeff doesn't have to be a genius to know what he's just found out.

Panic shoots through him as Tom moves further into the train. In a minute, he's going to turn around and see him sat there. And he really doesn't want to deal with Tom confronting him over him deceiving the firm for years. He has to get out. Grabbing his box, he barges his way through the people who are standing up and squeezes his way through the closing doors. He thinks he hears his name being called but as the train pulls away, he convinces himself that it's an illusion.

He wanders out of the station, still in a slight daze, and blinks as the harsh sunlight hits him. He knows that he needs to head over to Broadway if he wants to get the train back to his apartment, but Central Park is to his right and there are tourists and families milling around like they don't have a care in the world. They're people who haven't just lost everything they've been working towards for years. And he wants to be like them, even if it's just for a minute.

He examines the contents of the box that he's been carrying with him since he left the office. He grabs the silk tie and stuffs it in his pocket, ignoring the fact that he doesn't exactly have anywhere to go that will require a tie anymore, and rifles through the other few remaining items. It wasn't until he was being told to pack up what was his that he realised how few personal items he actually had in his office. There'd been no photos, since he is still without a wife and kids as his mum likes to remind him, and the books that lined the large bookcase were all fancy legal books that he had never bothered to look at. Most of the other stuff in the box is stationery and he didn't even know why he'd grabbed it. Sighing, he dumps the box down next to a bin, only bothering to rescue the copy of Angel and Demons out of what is left. He's been meaning to read it for years but work left him little time to read the paper let alone a novel. The irony that he would now have plenty of time to read it is not lost on him.

He walks into Central Park, relishing the way the sunlight disappears behind the trees so his head isn't pounding quite as much. There's a family having a picnic over on the grass, and a few people running. He could take up running now. He's never had time to before. He used to run, back in high school, and it sort of fell by the wayside once he was no longer obligated to do it. It's not like he doesn't keep himself in shape, he does, but that's due to him usually finding an hour to spend in the company's gym between reviewing depositions and meeting with clients. He wonders if it's pathetic that the gym is one of the things he's going to miss most about being a lawyer.

The path splits and he dithers for a moment about which way to go before choosing to head left. He's embarrassed to admit that he's been living in New York for over five years now and he hasn't even had time to properly walk around Central Park. When he first got offered the job at Hamish &Co, the idea of living in New York had seemed incredible, and he'd imagined himself running in Central Park, spending weekends visiting the Met, and having season tickets for the Yankees. He had really underestimated how much work being a lawyer was. He runs on a treadmill rather than in a park, the closest he's come to the art of the Met is the copy of a Kandinsky print that hangs in his living room, and he can't remember the last time he watched a game.

He continues to wander down the same path, shadowed by the trees and lost in his thoughts. He wonders what everyone is saying about him. He would like to think that there are at least some people at the firm who are sorry to see him go. But one less person in the firm means one less person to compete with. He doesn't kid himself into thinking that anyone at that place was really a friend of his; they all just used each other to get what they needed. He was the master of it, sweet talking everyone into getting him what he wanted, and making sure everyone who was useful was onside. All that was fucking useless now. He would be a pariah and the fact that his phone had remained resolutely silent since his departure told him all he needed to know.

He stops suddenly as he realises that the path has ended and he's stood at the top of a flight of steps. He's looking out over a large courtyard and fountain, and it's a hive of activity. There's a group of guys kicking a football around in one corner, and there's someone blowing ridiculously huge bubbles in front of the fountain. People are sat all around the edge of it, some chatting and others just lost in thought.

With his book still under his arm, he descends the stairs, noticing that there's a large terrace that goes under the bridge, and there's a small orchestra set up, playing a tune that he vaguely recognises. It's like a small tranquil haven and he's almost surprised to find something like this in a city like New York. But then New York is the city that's supposed to have everything.

The edge of the fountain isn't too crowded and he sits down, checking that it's dry so he won't be left with unappealing marks on his suit. He absent-mindedly watches the group kicking the ball around between them. They're playing dangerously close to the area where what seems to be a dance lesson is taking place. A couple are dancing something intricate and the ball suddenly lands at their feet. One of the guys, who doesn't look any older than 20, runs over and apologises. Jeff wonders if the teacher is going to have a go. He would. If the ball had hit someone on the head, that'd be a potential lawsuit. But instead of getting mad, the teacher just laughs and begins to dribble the ball. Before he even realises what's happening, the dance class has joined in the game, dancing forgotten.

Jeff feels an ache in his chest as he watches them, and he can't place what it is at first. As he watches them continuing to play, laughing as the ball flies between them and they attempt to show off their skills, he realises that it's jealousy. He can't remember the last time he was that free or had that much fun. His life has been a series of five-minute segments for the past five years, and he's sacrificed any form of an actual life in the name of his job. It's all he's focused on and now it's gone. It's his own fault; he won't deny that. But that doesn't mean he isn't furious over the fact that the thing he dedicated his life to, that he sacrificed everything for, is gone and he has no idea what to do or who he is outside of being a lawyer. He's always known who is; it's what helped make him be so confident in himself. He knows what he looks best in – suits – how his hair should be styled – like he just got out of bed – and exactly how to smile to get what he wants. But all that stuff is tied up in lawyer Jeff, the guy who has one of the best case records at his firm and worked more billable hours that anyone else last year. He doesn't know who he is outside of his cocky lawyer self, and he's never wanted to know. Now he suddenly has no choice but to find out, and he's not sure he's going to like the person he finds.

A flash makes him look up, and he's startled to find a girl stood in front of him, camera in her hand, one of those huge ones you see all the serious photographers carrying. Though he's not actually sure it's a camera since the flash pretty much blinded him.

He blinks. Then blinks again. The white spots are still there so he rubs at his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision.

This time when he looks up, he can make her out more clearly. She's young, he'd guess around twenty, with dark brown hair that looks like it had been neatly done this morning but is now falling around her face, and she's staring at him with these freaking huge eyes that make him feel like he's just killed a puppy.

"What the hell?" he says, rubbing at his eyes one more time to clear away the last few spots.

"I'm sorry," she says, biting her bottom lip and her eyes seem to go even wider if that's possible. "I didn't mean to almost blind you."

"Yeah, well maybe you shouldn't sneakily take pictures of people, huh? What are you doing anyway? You're not my stalker, are you?"

He means it as a joke but she seems to miss that and instead starts apologising profusely, shaking her head, which causes even more hair to fall out of the clip and around her face.

"No…Sorry…I was just- you looked really…I'm sorry. Just with the light and everything…I didn't mean to…I'll go."

She turns away from him but he grabs her wrist, and then lets go suddenly, wondering why he's grabbing hold of a stranger. Thankfully it stops her, and she turns back to him.

"You can't just take my picture and leave. That's a violation of my basic human rights."

It's not. But the panic on her face shows that she clearly thinks that he's about to haul her off to the nearest police station.

"Oh I didn't mean to…I was trying to get the right shot and…"

He cuts her off before she starts rambling at him again and says, "why were you taking my picture?"

She blinks at him and replies, "because you looked so sad," as if it is the most obvious answer in the world.

That stops him in his tracks. He opens his mouth to respond but nothing comes out. He's always been good at hiding his emotions, always, and he's not used to someone being able to tell what he's feeling. The fact that a random stranger thinks he looks sad…that's just another sign that he's no longer the person he was this morning. He's a person that he doesn't even know.

"I'm completing an extra credit assignment for my photography class," she says, sounding more confident now she knows that he isn't going to attack her or hand her over to the police. "We're supposed to catch emotion in a photograph and it's a nightmare. I've been traipsing around the park all day, taking pictures of families and couples. But my lecturer told me it was all wrong, even though I don't see how a photo of a couple in love isn't emotion. Then I came here because it's my favourite place in the whole park, everyone's so happy here, and I saw you and you looked…you looked like so alone."

He wants to laugh her comments off, tell her that she's crazy, and then head home to get blind drunk. But her words hit home in a way that nothing else has managed to since he got fired. His phone is still silent and he knows his apartment will be empty. He can't call his mum because she'll be so disappointed if she finds out he's been fired, and he'll have to explain the whole 'I'm not really a lawyer' thing. And he could call Britta since they're still friends but she's off in Amsterdam or somewhere at the minute. So he's really got no one and he's facing the prospect of days on end of drinking and being by himself, and he really wants to talk to someone so he's just a little less alone.

"Do you fancy getting a coffee?"

The girl's eyebrows fly up at that, and he shoots her his trademark smirk which makes her blush. At least he knows he's still got that now he's an unemployed liar.

"I don't know you."

"Are you worried about stranger danger?" he quips.

The look she shoots him lets him know that she's far more formidable than she first let on.

"No. But I don't even know your name."

"It's Jeff. And a coffee is the least you could do after blinding me and taking my picture without permission."

Her blush increases at that, and she casts her eyes down, pretending that she's fiddling with something on her camera. After a moment, she nods.

"I know a good place that's nearby."

"Don't I get your name?" he asks as he follows her back up the steps.

"I'm Annie."

* * *

"Where is this place?" Jeff asks as Annie leads him down another unfamiliar street.

Even though she's small and he really doubts that she has a gun concealed somewhere, he's heard enough about muggings to be a little worried. He mentally calculates that with his Rolex, Blackberry and wallet, she could take him for at least $3500. He thanks God that his black Amex is useless without the pin, and he prays that if she is going to mug him, she lets him keep the suit. He really doesn't fancy trying to get home in just his boxers. This day has already sucked enough.

"We're almost there," she says.

He has no idea where they are and he's really beginning to think that this was a stupid idea. He doesn't even know the girl, and it's not like he can offload his problems onto her. Plus he still has no idea how old she actually is so it's definitely not a smart plan to start hitting on her. Going back to his apartment and downing the entire bottle of 90 year-old scotch that he'd been saving for when he made partner suddenly seems like a far more appealing idea.

He's about to tell her so when she stops suddenly and he almost crashes into her. He looks up and sees that they're stood outside a small bakery. It catches his attention because in contrast to the dull shop fronts that line the street, this one is yellow. Not one of those horrifically bright yellows that blinds you but a creamy yellow that makes the place seem welcoming. The sign reads 'A Little of What You Fancy' in loopy handwriting and there are a variety of cakes in the window, all of which make Jeff aware of the fact that he hasn't eaten since the apple he had wolfed down before his first meeting that morning. He guesses that breakfast is another thing he'll have time for now.

"Here we are," she says with a small smile, before opening the door.

A bell chimes overhead as they walk in and the woman behind the counter looks up.

"Thank God you're back, Annie. The suppliers have been on the phone and apparently they've messed up the delivery and can't deliver more grounds until Monday. Shirley's out and I tried to explain that we needed them but they wouldn't listen and…"

"Steph, breathe. I'll go and call them now." She drops her camera down onto one of the empty tables and turns back to Jeff who's rocking backwards and forwards on his heels, wondering where the hell he is and what he's doing here. "Do you mind waiting a minute while I deal with this?" He opens his mouth to tell her that he's changed his mind and actually has plans with a bottle of scotch now, but she keeps going, leaving him unable to answer. "Thanks. I'll be back in a sec."

She's gone before Jeff can blink and Steph is already back behind the counter. He's tempted to just leave because he doesn't even know this girl, and he's had too shit of a day to care about being polite, but somehow he finds himself sitting down at the table where she dumped her camera, and looking around the bakery. It seems to be a mix of both bakery and café judging by the small tables and booths that cover one half of the room. The sofas are all filled, as are a few of the tables, and people are reading, typing away on their laptops, and just chatting. The counter dominates the other side of the place and there appears to be every type of cake imaginable on display. A huge coffee maker lines the back wall, and a large blackboard hangs above it, displaying the various drinks that are on offer. There's quiet music pumping out of a sound system somewhere, and the whole place reminds Jeff of the cafes that Starbucks tries to be like and has driven out of business over the years.

Annie appears in front of him, an apron now tied around her waist, and she places two mugs and a plate in front of them.

"One slice of carrot cake and one cinnamon latte," she says, pushing the plate and one mug towards him. He's about to ask her how she knows that that's what he likes to drink when she smiles at him. "It's a gift."

She sits down across from him and picks up her own mug, hot chocolate, and takes a sip. He does the same and an involuntary groan escapes from his lips as his taste buds are swamped by the rich cinnamon flavour.

"Fuck that's good," he says, and bearing in mind that it's rare of him to give a compliment to anyone, that means a lot coming from him. "Seriously good."

Annie blushes a little, and he's already learning that it's something that she has a tendency to do a lot.

"Thanks. I try my best." She takes another sip of her hot chocolate before continuing. "What do you think of the cake?"

He eyes it suspiciously, as if the fat in it can be absorbed just by him looking at it.

"I don't really eat cake."

"You don't eat cake?" she asks slowly, as if she doesn't understand what he's saying.

He gestures to his body and says, "this takes work. So no, no cake."

"You think a lot of yourself, don't you?"

There it is again, that spark that he saw back in the park, and he has a feeling there's a whole other side to Annie, one outside of the blushing, nervous girl who rambles and apologises. Then he wonders why he cares because he really needs to be getting on with his plan of getting so drunk that he passes out.

"You have to just try it," she adds. "Shirley is very passionate about her baking and she'll want to know what you think. It's always me that has to sample the new food and I'm not sure how much more I can take."

She's giving him those huge eyes again, and he feels like he's just shot Bambi. He wants to tell her that he won't eat the cake, that he's maintained a careful diet for years and he's not abandoning that now. And yet that look makes him want to do whatever she asks, which is fucking ridiculous since he doesn't even know her.

"Fine," he sighs, snatching up the fork and picking up the smallest bit of cake he can.

She smiles satisfied and watches him eat.

The cake may be one of the best things he's ever tasted, and it practically melts in his mouth. He can't stop himself taking another bite and that tells Annie all she needs to know.

"Shirley will be pleased. She's been trying to get that recipe right for ages."

"I didn't say I liked it," he says, cutting himself another bit off.

"Which is why you're still eating it?"

He has no response to that so settles for shoving the cake into his mouth so he can't possibly reply. She laughs and turns her attention back to her hot chocolate. After he's finished what's in his mouth, he glances around the bakery before asking, "So do you work here?"

"Yeah. It belongs to a friend of my mum's and she offered me a job when I started college here. I only took it because I couldn't find anything else, but it turned out be really fun. Shirley's lovely and we get a lot of regular customers. Like Mr Dawson over there," she says, casually pointing to an old man in the corner who's reading the paper. "His wife died last year and he comes in every afternoon for a cup of tea and one of Shirley's infamous brownies. When I'm not in class, I'm working here. Plus living in New York isn't exactly cheap."

"College?"

"Yeah I transferred to NYU in September. I'm in my second year."

"Second? So you're…"

"20, yeah."

He doesn't know why that causes relief to flood through him but it does. And he also doesn't know why another voice in his head, again one that sounds suspiciously like Britta, reminds him that he's still fifteen years older than her.

Annie picks up the other fork that's been lying on the table to help herself to some of the cake, but he quickly swats her hand away and shakes his head.

"Get your own," he mutters.

"I thought you didn't eat cake?"

"I think I'm allowed to make an exception today."

The words are out of his mouth before he realises what he's said. That's the first time he's actually referenced what happened today out loud, and almost instantly the nausea is back. The cake suddenly looks unappealing and he shoves the plate away.

"You can talk to me. You know, if you want to."

"No offense but I don't even know you." She looks hurt and she's about to say something when he cuts her off. "Look, thanks for the coffee and the cake. It was really nice of you." He shoves the chair back and stands up. "Just…thanks."

With that, he walks out of the bakery, leaving a guilty Annie behind him.

* * *

On a normal day, realising he'd left his jacket with his wallet in somewhere would rank very highly on Jeff's 'shit things that have happened to me today' list. However, since he'd been fired from his job today, it really doesn't bother him as much as it should. He had considered going back to the bakery to get the jacket but he'd stormed out of there like a fucking teenage girl in a strop so he had shot that idea down immediately. Thankfully he'd had both change and his keys in his trouser pockets so he'd been able to get back home. And the bottle of scotch had been exactly where he'd left it, so he was able to get completely drunk just like he'd been planning to since his wonderful meeting with Ted earlier.

And that's how he comes to be sat on his couch, shaking the bottle upside down and wondering why there seems to be nothing left. Because Jeff is pretty sure that he does not remember drinking all that alcohol. And if he did drink all that alcohol then it was clearly defunct because he still feels like shit and can still remember everything that happened today. The memory of the meeting in Ted's office makes him feel sick. Though that might be all the alcohol. That he doesn't remember drinking.

He debates whether it's possible for him to make it downstairs and across the street to the nearest shop to buy more but he's not sure his legs still work so he doesn't think that's a smart plan.

Jeff frowns as there's a knock at the door. He's not sure why there's a knock at his door because this building has a doorman who's supposed to check all guests, and he can't name any of his neighbours so he doubts it's one of them. When the mysterious stranger knocks again, Jeff forces himself off the couch, wobbling far too much, and drunkenly stumbles over to his front door. Yanking it open, he's greeted with the sight of Annie. Annie and his jacket.

"You left this behind and I thought you might need it back."

"How'd you find me?" he slurs and she frowns slightly.

"Are you drunk?"

"Little. How'd you find me?" he repeats, wondering if she hadn't heard him the first time.

"You had a letter in your inside pocket," she says, waving the bill that he'd grabbed in a rush this morning. "Can I come in?"

"'Bout stranger danger?"

"That was your thing. I wanted to talk to you." She pauses before adding, "but I have mace in my purse, I can scream really loudly, and I know self defence. Also, I told my flatmate where I was going so if I'm not back my midnight then she'll start to worry."

"Doorman's not s'posed to let strangers up," he mutters but he still moves aside to let her in.

He notices the way she scrunches her nose as she walks past him. Maybe he did drink that entire bottle of alcohol after all.

"You live here?"

"No. Housesitting." His comebacks are really bad when he's been drinking.

She rolls her eyes and begins to nose around the living room. "It's…minimalist."

He may be drunk but he knows that translates as 'this place is empty. Clearly you don't spend any time here which is depressing and sad.'

"Home is my work," he mumbles before attempting to sit on the sofa, which he misses completely. He blinks and seems surprised to find that he's in fact landed on the floor. "Work is my home," he rectifies, reaching for the empty bottle.

"Don't you think you've had enough to drink?" Annie asks, coming to sit on the floor next to him.

"Empty."

"You drank the entire thing?"

"I was saving it for when I made partner."

"You made partner? Isn't that a good thing?" she asks hesitantly.

"Nope. Got fired."

He thinks that the alcohol might finally be starting to kick in because he doesn't feel like he's been punched in the gut when he says it.

"You got fired?"

"You ask a lot of questions. They found out I wasn't a liar. I'm a lawyer." He bangs on the coffee table for the emphasis before he realises something. "Liar and lawyer sound the same. Which is ironic. Liar. Lawyer. Liar. Lawyer."

"Right…Let me get this straight, your boss found out you lied about being a lawyer?"

"Yep. And he fired me. I am disbarred."

"How?"

"How'd he fire me? He said 'you're fired.' Like Donald Trump," he says, banging the table once more.

"Not how did he fire you. I meant how did you fake being a lawyer?"

"Oh. Should've said. I said I'd a degree and I didn't. But I was there five years and I was the best fucking lawyer in that place. I had a great win record and I worked my ass off. I gave them my all and they do this."

"Maybe if you had actually had a degree then this wouldn't have happened." The look he gives her tells her that's the wrong path to go down. "Well it's just a job right?"

"Annie," he says, drawing her name out. "I worked 2500 billable hours last year. I basically lived in that office. I gave them everything. D'you know that I've been in New York for five years," he holds up a hand to show her how many five is, "and I haven't even been up the Statue of Liberty or gone on one of those boat trips to the Empire State Building?"

"That's the wrong way round."

"Huh?"

"You get a boat to the Statue of Liberty not the Empire State building."

"You do? Which ones the one with the crown?"

"Statue of Liberty."

"Oh. Well my point still stands. I haven't been to either. I spent every hour I could working at that place. I was about to make partner. And now…" he throws his arms up in the air to try and make his point. "My life is over."

"It's not over. You're being melodramatic."

"I'm not. 'S over."

He doesn't remember much else after that.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry it's taken me a little while to get this up, I'm in the middle of exams at the moment so revision is taking up almost all my time. Thank you for your reviews on part one :)**

Jeff wakes up the next morning with possibly the worst hangover he's ever had. It is not helped by the fact that his alarm starts beeping at 6am and it makes him feel like his head is about to explode. Keeping his face buried in the pillow, he swings an arm out and successfully manages to send his alarm clock crashing to the floor. The bang reverberates throughout his skull and he'd cry out if his throat didn't feel like it was lined with sandpaper. But then there's silence, sweet silence. He breathes and tries to sit up, but this only reinforces the pounding in his head. So instead he attempts to roll over, and is thankful to discover that he had the sense to close his curtains last night so the room is still pitch black. Though he doesn't actually remember closing them. He doesn't really remember much of anything. The first thought to perforate through his haze of 'ow my head hurts' and 'I don't remember anything,' is that his alarm going off means he has to head to work. This makes him sit up way too fast and he feels like someone has bashed his head into a wall repeatedly. He groans and presses a hand to his head in an attempt to stop the pounding. When he can finally face opening his eyes, he sees that there's a glass of water and a bottle of Advil sat on his bedside table. In that moment, he is convinced that there must be a God. He grabs them both, shakes two Advil out of the bottle and downs them immediately.

However, any hope he had that they would help feel better is quashed by the fact that the first memory of the previous day flashes to the front of his mind – "fired and disbarred." And then it's like an unrelenting stream or memories, playing in his head like the world's most horrific film. He remembers it all, the certainty that he was going to make partner, the firing, the security guards, the embarrassment, the drinking.

He feels the familiar rising nausea that was so present yesterday, but it takes him a moment to realise that this isn't just rising nausea; he's going to vomit. He kicks off the bedclothes, ignores the pounding in his head, and races into the bathroom to throw up.

As he slumps down on the bathroom floor, pressing his cheek against the cool tiles, Jeff is pretty sure his life can't get any worse. Then that damn alarm clock starts beeping again.

Jeff is going to kill it. He all but drags himself into the bedroom, grabs a shoe off the floor, and smashes it against the alarm clock until it finally stops beeping. He tries to ignore that this is what his life has come to, him attacking inanimate objects, and instead attempts to gracefully drag himself back into bed. He fails on the graceful part but he manages to kick his way back under the duvet. It's as he's doing this that he registers what he's wearing, the shirt and trousers that he was wearing yesterday. The insanely expensive shirt and trousers that he was wearing yesterday. There's a part of him that's freaking out and already planning to get them to the dry cleaners, but the despondent hungover part of him can't bring himself to care.

He doesn't even care about his suits anymore; his life really is over.

That statement makes something else twinge in his brain and he feels like he's forgetting something. He pulls the pillow over his face and tries to remember what other horrifically embarrassing and depressing things could have happened to him yesterday. He remembers drinking and… Annie. Her face flashes into his mind and the memories of the park and the bakery come back to him. He feels like he's forgetting something else and he desperately tries to remember. He forces his mind back through the firing and removal from the building, trying to think what the other thing was. He was going to go home and get drunk and…

He sits up suddenly as he remembers that Annie had come over last night and that makes the pounding in his head feel even worse. Remembering everything he told her, spilling about getting fired and his life being over, makes him cringe, and then he freezes. Because he remembers telling her all of that but he doesn't remember much else. He's still in his clothes from yesterday so they didn't sleep together. Because that'd be a great way to kick off his new messed up life, sleeping with someone fifteen years younger than him. But he doesn't remember her leaving last night, and he doesn't remember getting into bed. Everything after his drunken ramblings is something of a haze.

He listens to see if he can hear any noise from the living room and kitchen but there's silence. If she had spent the night, he assumes that she would have come in during the crashing and the vomiting, so it's safe to assume that she left at some point. Which means he's free to spend the day in bed feeling sorry for himself, and contemplating whether there's any possibility that this is all a nightmare. Normally he would already be up and getting ready for the day ahead, mentally reviewing which cases need to take priority and what meetings he has, but instead he's not needed anywhere. Some vulture has probably already stolen on his office, and his cases will be assigned to other people by the end of day. It'll be like he was never even at Hamish &Co.

Groaning, he rolls over and sees a carefully folded piece of paper leaning against the lamp on his bedside table. His name is written on it in cursive writing and has been underlined three times. With a sigh, he grabs it and opens it, stubbornly refusing to lift his head or move more than is necessary.

_Jeff, _

_I hope you're feeling okay this morning, but judging by how much scotch you put away last night, I doubt it. If you haven't already noticed, there's Advil and water by your bed. _

_I don't know if you remember what you told me last night about everything that happened with your job, but I wanted to say that I'm sorry. Even if you did lie your way into it, I know what it's like to lose something you've been working so hard for, and I'm sorry you're having to go through that. _

_But I want to show you that you don't have to give up just because you're not a lawyer anymore. If you don't remember where the bakery is, it's on 69th and Columbus. Meet me there at 9. And dress casual._

_Annie _

There's no way he's going since he has no intention of getting out of bed, and Annie isn't here with her Disney eyes to convince him to do something he doesn't want to do. His plan is to spend the day in bed wallowing in self-pity and nothing's going to change that. Then he spots the PS:

_P.S. In case you're planning on standing me up, I took your jacket and wallet back with me last night. I will _accidentally _spill coffee on your jacket if you don't show up._

Damn it.

* * *

Jeff has never been so thankful for sunglasses until today. Apparently May means that it's officially summer, judging by how brightly the sun is shining. His head is still pounding and when he finally faced looking in the mirror this morning, he couldn't help but shudder at how bloodshot his eyes were. His throat feels like it's lined with sandpaper and his level of nausea seems to keep increasing. He wants to be back in bed but he needs to go and get his damn wallet back. And he's trying not to think about the look the doorman gave him when left this morning, clad in a t-shirt and jeans rather than his usual suit. He shouldn't care what a doorman thinks of him but he was a fucking lawyer at a huge firm yesterday, and now he's someone whose only plans involve stopping by a bakery and then sleeping for the next week.

The subway ride had done little to help his urge to vomit, and out on the street he's battling the sunlight and the loudest bloody drilling he's ever heard. And he wishes he had been sober enough last night to actually get his wallet and jacket back from Annie so he didn't have to do this.

The sight of the yellow bakery feels him with relief and he forces himself to keep going with the knowledge that there is coffee inside, and he'll probably be less of a grouchy bastard once he has a large amount of caffeine in him. Pushing open the door, he winces at the chime that seems ten times louder than yesterday, and is thankful to see that it's pretty empty. He assumes that he's missed the pre-work rush that he's normally a part of. That or it's just not doing well. He wonders why he hopes it's the former since it's not his business and if does well or not doesn't affect him in the slightest. But he can't help but think of Annie saying how much she enjoys working there. He also can't help but think that he remembers the most random shit.

"I thought we'd be seeing you," Steph said from behind the counter as she finished serving another customer. "Annie left this for you." She presses a cup into his hand, and shakes her head as she scrabbles for change in his pocket. "It's on the house."

He thanks her and takes a sip, feeling the caffeine almost instantly rush through him. He can already feel himself becoming a little more human and he takes another long sip.

"What is this?"

His voice is hoarse but Steph has the decency not to comment.

"A vanilla mocha with three shots of espresso. Annie mentioned that you might need something to wake you up."

"Where is she?"

"She'll be back in a minute. She told me to tell you to take a seat and order whatever you want for breakfast. I recommend the croissants since Shirley made a fresh batch this morning."

He's going to say that he doesn't feel up to food but Steph is already shooing him away to the dining area, and he has a feeling that if he spends too much time here, he'll end up getting fat from all the pastries they keep pushing his way. He wonders where that thought came from. He's here to get his stuff back and go. And finish this coffee because it's really good. But then he's definitely going back to bed for some wallowing and pondering over what the hell he's going to do next.

Steph comes over and places the croissant and a small pot of jam in front of him, and he decides that he'll do the whole wallowing thing after he's eaten this. As he begins to smear the jam over the crumbly pastry, the bell chimes and he looks up to see Annie walking in. She's wearing a cardigan and pencil skirt, and has her camera bag slung over her shoulder. When she sees him sat in the corner, she smiles brightly and waves before disappearing into the kitchen at the back, not giving any opportunity to confront her over her deviousness. He sighs and takes another sip of his coffee, waiting for her to make reappear.

It's ten minutes later when she finally does, and he's already polished off his croissant, half his coffee, and made a start on the New York Times crossword, something he hasn't had a chance to do in over a year. There's a little voice in his head telling him that it's almost half past nine and he should be getting ready for a meeting with the CEO of Cobol right now. He quashes it by raising an eyebrow at Annie as she approaches his table, jacket and wallet in hand.

"I know it was sneaky of me to bribe you like this, but you wouldn't have come otherwise."

"You're right, I wouldn't." A look of hurt flashes across his face at that and he rephrases. "Annie, you can't just take my stuff and make me come out here. I'm really not in the mood for playing games today."

"So what, you'd prefer to have just continued to drink yourself stupid instead?"

"As a matter of fact, I would."

"Well then you should be very glad you met me because I'm not going to let you do that."

"I don't even know you!" he replies, and a part of him wonders if it can really be right that they only met yesterday because she seems to have wormed her way into his life pretty damn fast.

"How about this for a deal? I'll leave you alone if you can tell me one person that you can spend today with instead. Because I'm not letting you be all self-pitying and depressed alone. You need to be with people because otherwise you're going to feel a lot worse. Trust me."

He remembers what she said in her note, that she knew what it was like to lose the thing you've been working towards, and he gets that feeling once again that there's more to Annie than meets the eye. He wants to quip back with the name of someone, anyone, that he can spend today with instead, but the reality is that there's no one. Anyone he worked with won't have anything to do with him, his job meant he had no time for a social life, and Britta, the person that'd most likely happily get drunk with him, is on the other side of the world. It's a depressing realisation that he's friendless and alone.

"Fine," he reluctantly mumbles, keeping his eyes fixed on the newspaper.

"This is going to be fun, I promise."

"You're one of those people who likes to organise fun, aren't you?" he asks as she pulls a notebook out of her bag and flicks it open.

"I don't organise fun, Jeff. But we've got a lot to do today and it helps to have a plan."

"Sounds like organised fun to me," he mutters. "Why are you helping me anyway?"

It's been bothering him since he read her note this morning. He has a feeling it's been bothering him since she showed up at this door last night but he's too drunk to remember the majority of last night. She's got no obligation towards him, and he's basically a stranger to her. A stranger who had a go at her in the park, took her for coffee in the place that she works, and then stormed out on her. If he was her, he'd have thought that he was a jackass and not bothered with him again.

"It was when I saw you in the park yesterday. You just looked so sad."

"And you tend to help up random people who wander around New York looking sad?"

"No. I don't know. You reminded me of me."

"Of you?"

She pauses for a moment and absent-mindedly begins to doodle in her notebook, focusing her gaze of the page rather than him.

"I had a breakdown in high school. I started taking Adderall to cope with all my work and I got addicted. I ended up running through a glass door and being dragged off to rehab." She swallows and he can tell this is hard for. He wants to run, run away from the girl who's telling him her deepest darkest secret. But somehow he knows that she's barely told anyone this story, that she trusts him enough to tell him, and that keeps him in his seat. "I was on track for a place at Yale and a scholarship until that. My parents could barely look at me afterwards, and I felt like I'd failed them. Like I'd failed everyone. I'd always had this plan to graduate first in my year, be valedictorian, and get into Yale. I didn't manage to do any of that." She's silent again and he wanders if he's supposed to say something, and if he is then what. Because he's useless at the emotional stuff. But she keeps on going, and this time she's looking right at him. "I wanted to give up but I didn't. I got into Community college and then I transferred to NYU. I could have given up but it turns out there's just a different plan to my life than the one I expected. And if I had gone to Yale like expected, I could never have started working here, I'd never have met the people I have, and I'd never have become the person I am now. You can't give up simply because life isn't turning out the way you thought it would."

"You sound like one of those life coaches," and he mentally slaps himself because that's a dumb thing to say and she's opened up to him and that's all he can come up with in response.

However, she grins instead and carries on.

"It sounds like all you did was work 24/7 at that law firm, and you're missing out on so much. You said last night that you'd never been to Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building. And I don't see how you can have lived in New York for so long and not been to either of those sights. So I thought we'd go. I want to take pictures for my photography class anyway, and I'd prefer to have some company than see them alone."

"We can't just go to the Statue of Liberty."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a Friday." It's definitely the worst argument he's ever given. Except for that time in fourth grade when he'd argued that he couldn't go to Tom Scott's birthday party because he wanted to keep the present for himself.

"Your argument is that it's a Friday? That's meant to convince me? I don't have class today and you don't have work. I've already arranged for Troy to cover my shift, and I'm going to be going anyway. It'd be fun to do it with someone else. When was the last time you did something without thinking it over and planning it?"

"You've planned this!"

"Yeah I've planned this. Not you. You didn't wake up today and know you were going to go and be a tourist in New York for the day. Be spontaneous." He raises an eyebrow at her and she blushes a little. "I get the life coach thing now."

"Fine. But I'm going to be spontaneous today on one condition."

"I don't think spontaneity has conditions."

He gives her a look and she nods.

"Give me your notebook."

She hesitantly hands it to her and he glances at it, taking in the page that's littered with notes on timing and prices for a whole variety of different New York attractions. Sighing, he rips it out and ignores Annie's gasp as he crumples it up and throws it in the bin.

"Jeff!"

"Annie!" he mimics. "I'm guessing you had this entire day planned out. And if I have to be spontaneous then you have to too."

"But one of us needs to have a plan. How do we know what time the ferry goes? Or how much tickets for the Empire State Building are?"

"Annie, if you don't agree to be spontaneous with me then I'm going to walk out of here, stop at the liquor store to buy more scotch, and then drink myself stupid until I pass out."

He doesn't even know why the hell he's trying to convince her to spend the day with him. He didn't even want to go in the first place. He should want to spend the day getting drunk again and feeling miserable because he fucked up his entire life, but instead he's hoping that some random 20 year-old girl that he hasn't even known 24 hours is going to want to spend the day being a tourist with him. If this is what he's like when he's not a lawyer, he honestly has no idea what to think.

"I can't even plan…"

"No planning."

She crosses her arms, lets out an indignant sigh and nods before heading to get them some coffee to go. He honestly has no clue how he winded up talking her into coming with him when this had all been her idea. There's a small smirk on her face as she pours the coffee, and it dawns on him that she managed to make this trip feel like his idea without him even realising it.

"Damn it," he says under his breath, glaring in her general direction.

He's going to have to be careful with this one.

* * *

As he stands in the inordinately long queue for tickets for the Empire State Building, only partially listening as Annie reels off facts from a leaflet that she picked up on the way up, he thinks that this might not have been such a bad idea after all. It's not like this has made him forget about the nightmare that was yesterday. It's been playing on his mind, and he can't stop himself from thinking about what he would have been doing now if he hadn't been found out. But every time his mind drifts to anything remotely related to his time as a lawyer, Annie seems to sense it and she distracts him. Sometimes it works, like when they had started debating whether the brunette at the other end of the carriage was Tina Fey or not, and other times it doesn't. But even then he's thankful that she's willing to try. And he does concede that he would be feeling ten times worse if he were back in his big, empty apartment, focusing on yesterday.

"It took one year and 45 days to build," Annie says, dragging him back to the present. "Which was actually ahead of schedule."

"You know they have audio guides up there, right? So we're going to be told all this then."

"But I like reading it," she pouts and he sighs, motioning for her to continue.

They continue up the line and he wonders what kind of crazy power she has over him. He's not even known her a day and she's already got him doing and staying stuff that he'd never normally do. Britta had tried to convince him to come with her to Shakespeare in the Park once and he'd brushed her off, telling her that he had a presentation to prepare. He hated all that touristy type stuff. And yet here he was queuing between some loud obnoxious family whose son was having a temper tantrum because the queue was taking too long, and an elderly Japanese couple who were taking infuriatingly fast Japanese to each other, and he didn't even mind. If someone had told him yesterday that this is what he'd be doing 24 hours later, he'd have been convinced they were insane.

The queue continues forwards and eventually they reach the front and are called over to one of the windows.

"Two tickets please."

"Did you want audio guides with that?" the woman asks in a monotone voice, clearly bored of asking the same question hundreds of times a day.

"Yeah why not."

"That'll be $54.35."

Jeff automatically reaches for his wallet at the same time that Annie goes for hers.

"I'll get these."

"I dragged you here so it's only fair that I pay."

"This whole day was my idea," she replies.

He sighs and says, "Look, I'll pay for this and you pay for the Statue of Liberty. Deal?"

She bites her lips and then nods, shoving her purse back into her back, and watching silently as Jeff swipes his black Amex card. He knows what she's thinking but he punches in his PIN anyway and takes the ticket from the woman, who hands him a coupon for their audio guides.

"I can afford this, Annie. It's only $50."

"$50 is a lot of money."

"I may not have a job anymore, but I'm not broke. Working almost all the time means I didn't exactly have a lot of time to spend what I earnt. I've got enough to keep going for at least six months if not more. So I can afford to buy tickets today, alright?"

"Alright," she says but she sounds hesitant and he senses that he's going to have to persuade her to let him pay for more stuff today.

He's disappointed to find that there's in fact more waiting after they've bought their tickets, and he can't stop himself tapping his feet impatiently as they wait for an elevator.

"You need to relax. It'll be here in a minute."

He's about to respond with a comment about how time is money and how there's other stuff he could be getting on with rather than waiting for a damn elevator, when he remembers that that's not the case anymore. There isn't anything else that he could be getting on with, and his time is worthless now. He could sit around doing nothing all day and no one would care. He's free to queue for tickets, wait for an elevator and then spend however much time he wants looking out over the city, because no one's expecting him to do anything. His time is his own. And for the first time since he got fired, he can see the tiniest bit of positivity in his becoming unemployed. Okay, so he has no idea what he's going to do for a job or money, and he's wasted five years of his life in a career that he can probably never return to. But that doesn't have to be his worry right now. Right now all he has to think about is where he wants to go after here, and whether he has any intention of buying one of those crappy green screen photos that he's just been forced to endure. Him and Annie had pulled ridiculous faces and he won't admit it but a little part of him wants to buy it, even thought it's atrociously expensive, because it's been so long since he took a stupid photo, or had anyone to take one with.

Thankfully those emotional thoughts are cut off by the queue moving forward. A small woman who definitely seems like one of those types who has gone crazy with her power shoves them into the elevator, before throwing an arm out to stop the family behind them from getting in too.

"That's it," she says in a heavy New York accent, and she presses a button, shutting the doors.

The elevator slowly begins to climb up and Jeff absent-mindedly checks his phone, slightly disappointed to see that there are still no new messages or missed calls. He knows that getting fired makes him something of a pariah, but he had still been hopeful that at least Ben or someone would deviate from the crowd and talk to him. Hell even a text from Alan would be appreciated right about now. But the entirety of the firm seems to have decided that he's no longer worth their time.

He pushes the disappointment he's feeling down and instead focuses on watching the numbers increase as they climb up the building. It's pathetic that he feels disappointed that he's already been shut out. He's not a little kid, he's able to handle rejection. But he had thought that he was _someone _at the firm, and it turns out that no one's even sorry to see him go. He knows that that's the way the world of law works, that it's all about competition. Hell he's been one of those guys that's happy to see a fellow colleague fired. It just feels rather different now he's on the receiving end.

"Jeff," Annie says, bumping her shoulder against him and pulling him back to the present.

The doors have opened and people are trying to barge past him to get out.

"Sorry," he mutters to the woman behind him, and he follows Annie out of the elevator, through the doors and out onto the observation deck.

"Come on."

It's crowded up there, with people all clamouring around the edges to get pictures of the view, but they managed to squeeze in beside some teenagers and they look out across the city.

It looks incredible. Annie automatically pulls on her headphones to listen to the audio guide, and starts fumbling for her camera, standing on tiptoes so she can get a clear shot of the landscape. But Jeff just stands taking it all in. The Met Life building is in front of him, and he can see the Chrysler building to his right. The whole city is a mass of skyscrapers, slowly disappearing into a blur in the distance. It's partly blocked by one particularly large building but he can see the green expanse of Central Park like an Oasis in the crowded city landscape. He can vaguely guess where his apartment is among the blurred mass of buildings that are to the park's left, and the whole thing makes him feel rather small.

He turns to see what Annie thinks of it all but he's faced with a balding old man rather than her familiar face. He glances around and sees her disappearing around the corner, audio guide around her neck and camera in hand.

Sighing, he pushes himself away from the wall and begins to walk in the opposite direction, glancing out over the walls at the city. He spends ten minutes or so taking in the different views before his phone buzzes in his jeans pocket and he grabs for it. But rather than seeing a new text message, it's an alarm going off reminding him of his lunch date with a new client at Le Bernardin. The pang in his chest as he reads it is painful and the words swim in front of his eyes. His breaths are suddenly short again, and the disappointment that was so fresh yesterday begins to wash over him again. What is he doing? He's up on top of the fucking Empire State Building when his whole life is falling apart. His career as a lawyer over, and he's got no idea what to do next, and he's wasting the day sightseeing! He stuffs his phone back in his pocket and vigorously rubs his hands over his face, as if he'll discover that it's all been an awful dream when he opens his eyes. As if he'll be back in his office, preparing for court and getting ready for lunch.

But instead, when he finally faces looking up, he's still surrounded by tourists and screaming kids. Only now Annie is in front of him, a look of concern on her face.

"I've got to…"

"No," she says, cutting him off.

She doesn't say anything else and instead hooks her arm through his and leads him towards another viewing point.

"Annie," he says, his tone as firm as hers. "I have to go. I cannot spend today swanning about New York with you. I have a life to try and sort out."

"What's your plan then?" she asks. She crosses her arms and fixes him with a stubborn gaze.

"I don't know! But whatever it is, it's none of your business. I don't even know you! It's really great that you've got some crusade going on to help me out but my life is something I need to sort out for myself."

She turns away from him, looking out over the water towards the Statue of Liberty, and he waits for her to turn to him with that wide-eyed expression of hers. But she doesn't. Instead she stays facing the water. He wonders if that's his cue to leave and he tries not to question why he feels disappointed that she's another person who doesn't care if he stays or goes. After a moment, he sighs and turns to leave.

"You don't like accepting help, do you?" Her voice is quiet in contrast to the noise from everyone that surrounds them, but he still hears her.

"What?"

"I'm not trying to interfere or anything, you know," she says, still facing away from him. "I just didn't want you to be alone. But I'm guessing you don't often get people being there for you, or particularly like it. Which I get. But you should try it sometime. It helps."

She raises her camera and takes one last photo. Then before he can even realising what's happening, she's walking away. She pulls the audio guide from around her neck and presses it into a guard's hand. The door opens and she's gone.

Jeff stands frozen as he watches her go, and even after she's gone.

"Excuse me," a harangued mother says as she tries to make her way past him, dragging her young song behind her.

He mutters an apology and ends up moving into the spot where Annie had stood, looking out over the water. He can see the Statue of Liberty out in the bay, and a couple of small ferries heading towards it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he wonders why the hell he feels guilty. He doesn't even know her. He doesn't need the extra hassle of letting someone else down and god knows why he even feels obligated towards her. She's practically a complete stranger. And yet he still feels like a complete bastard for ditching her when she only wanted to help him. Her words play on repeat in his mind and he considers them. It's not that he doesn't like accepting help. It's simply that he's never felt much need to. His experiences have always taught him that most people let you down in the end, and he can do something far better by himself rather than relying on other people.

'And where's that got you, huh?' The Britta voice that seems to have taken up permanent residence in his head asks. 'Weren't you whining that no one from work even wanted anything to do with you?'

'I wasn't whining,' he thinks but he can't help acknowledge that she's right. He wonders if having a conversation with his subconscious means that he's crazy.

Sighing, he pushes away from the wall and yanks off the audio guide that he hadn't even bothered to listen to. As he walks back inside, handing it to the guard as he goes, he debates whether it's worth trying to catch up with her. And he wonders why he even cares. Then he decides he's definitely going crazy. Clearly losing his job has also meant that he's losing his sanity.

"Hey."

He jumps slightly as he turns the corner and is greeted with the sight of Annie. She's leaning against the wall opposite the queue for the elevators, scuffing her shoe against the carpet. When he meets her gaze, she turns her attention back to the floor and fiddles with the hem of her cardigan.

"I thought you left."

"I did."

"Hanging around the corridor isn't really leaving," he says, trying to lighten the mood. "When you storm off you're not meant to wait around."

She ignores his comments and instead says, "You were right. Your life isn't really any of my business. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry." She bites her lip and risks a glance up at him for his reaction.

He weighs up what to say next. He could accept her apology, thank her for trying to help, and head on home. Home to his empty apartment with no idea what to do next. Not that that's a bad thing. He's pretty sure he's going to feel less shit after having gotten so drunk that he can't remember anything. Though that didn't really work last night.

However he finds himself saying, "It's okay. I shouldn't have had a go at you. You were just trying to help."

"Well I'm still sorry," she says with a smile. "Sometimes I get carried away."

"Did you want to get some lunch?"

As she nods, he wonders why he always manages to make it sound like he's asking her out.

* * *

Every restaurant that he had suggested had been too expensive apparently. And Annie had casually pointed out that if they were all places that he ate at normally, then they would most likely run the risk of running into some of his former colleagues. The thought of the uncomfortable conversation that would follow such a meeting was enough to make him rule out any restaurant within a ten-block radius of what had been his office. Which left the Chinese take-out place near his apartment and…that was it.

So he had left the choice up to her, which means they are now walking along the harbour and eating pizza slices from a deli that it seems she stops at almost every day. At least it seems that way judging from the warm greeting that the owner bestowed on her as they had walked in. Jeff had tried to protest against getting pizza, trying to argue that he had already done his unhealthy food segment for that day with the croissant, but she had ignored him and ordered him a slice anyway.

The grease soaks through the paper plate and onto his fingers as he takes another bite while he holds Annie's slice in his other hand. She is taking photos of the queue of people waiting to board one of the boats. Their walk from the deli to the harbour where they could catch their ferry had been peppered with random stops as she saw something else to photograph.

"What are all these photos for?" he asks as she walks back over to him and takes her pizza back.

"My final assignment. We've got to make a collage and I'm doing mine on the different faces of New York. You know like the Wall Street bankers, the performance artists in Times Square, the rollerbladers in Central Park, all the tourists. It's meant to show how New York is a patchwork of different lives. It's stupid."

"It doesn't sound stupid to me," he says and he means it. She blushes and he is unsure as to whether he should have said something else instead.

"Thanks. Hopefully my tutor will think the same. It's worth two thirds of my final grade."

"Have you chosen your major yet?" he asks, trying to recall what he had read when he had idly flicked through college brochures back when he was seventeen.

"Not yet. But I'm thinking Healthcare Management at the moment."

"I'm going to nod and pretend I know a lot about that," he laughs.

She smiles up at him and they walk on in silence. He tries not to question why he wants to make her smile like that all the time. Because he honestly does. There's something about her that makes him feel like that he's not completely useless, even though he's successfully screwed up the one thing that he had going for him. Which is ridiculous considering the fact that he barely knows her. He's only known her a day and yet she's already managed to make him feel like more than the guy that he's not even sure he truly likes.

"Annie –"

"We might as well go and get in the queue," she says, glancing at her watch.

He nods and follows her, tossing his rubbish in the trash, and trying to not to think about what he'd have said if she hadn't interrupted him.

They join another queue and Jeff doesn't think he's ever queued so much in his life. A phone rings and he automatically reaches for his before he sees Annie doing the same. She smiles apologetically before taking the call, turning away from him slightly. He does his best not to eavesdrop, which is first for him, but he can't avoid picking up snapshots of the conversation. She's talking about dinner and how she'll pick up food. At one point she quickly checks her watch before saying she'll be home by seven. There's a pang in his chest at that and he brushes it off as the realisation that he's got no plans for the foreseeable future.

"Boyfriend?" he asks as she hangs up. He means for it to sound casual but his voice comes out strained and a tad too high. Thankfully she doesn't seem to notice.

"Flatmate," she clarifies. "Apparently it's my turn to get food. She can't cook to save her life."

If anyone ever asks, Jeff will vehemently deny that he felt any form of relief at Annie's reply. And as she starts reeling off facts about the Statue of Liberty, he shuts his mind off from wandering down that particular train of thought.

* * *

"Look, Jeff," she points as the ferry moves closer to the famous statue. He's not surprised to see her already reaching for her camera and she leans over the side to try and get a decent picture. The sight of her leaning over the water, heavy camera in hand, means he doesn't even think as he grabs hold of her waist to prevent her from tumbling overboard. She glances back over her shoulder and smiles at him, hair blowing in her face, before turning her attention back to the statue.

For the second time in 24 hours, Jeff can't breathe. But this time it's not because he's been discovered to be a fraud and his boss is making it clear that his career is over. Annie is warm against his hands, even through her skirt, and he can feel her soft curves as he holds her. She leans further forward and her cardigan rides up ever so slightly, meaning his thumbs are now pressed against bare skin. The heat of her body causes images to wash through his mind that aren't appropriate at the best of times, but especially not when he's trying to prevent her from falling to her death. He imagines them in his bed, her naked body pressed against his. He sees himself trailing soft kisses down her body, and he sees her clutching at him as she tries to pull him even closer to her. He can almost feel her nails digging into his back as he pushes into her, their bodies impossibly close.

Then a strong gust of wind blows across his face and he's drawn back to reality. He blinks slightly and sees that Annie is still hanging over the edge, oblivious to what she's doing to him. He forces himself to breath as he shoves all thoughts of sleeping with Annie from his mind.

"Okay, time to come back to a slightly safer angle," he says, trying to keep his voice even. The moment her feet are securely back on the boat's floor, he lets go of her as if she's burning him. She frowns at him and he shrugs before reaching his phone and typing gibberish to make it look as if he's replying to a text. He doesn't know if she believes him but when he looks back up, her attention is focused back on her camera.

'Get a grip, Winger,' he tells himself as he clutches hold of the railing simply to give his hands something to do.

"Did you want me to take a photo of you two?"

The voice startles them both and they glance up to see a woman standing in front of them, clad in a Red Sox jersey, and reaching out for Annie's camera. She smiles warmly at them but he hesitates, waiting for Annie to decide. However, Annie hands the woman her camera straight away and explains how it works. Jeff presses himself against the barrier of the boat and Annie stands next to him, pressing herself against his side, acutely unaware of the effect she's having on him. But he lets out a shaky breath and forces himself to appear calm. If can keep his cool when being humiliated in front of his entire office, he can handle a photo with Annie. He drapes an arm around her and aims a lazy smile in the camera's direction. There's a flash, just as blinding as yesterday in the park, and then she's moving away from him and thanking the woman.

"Let's see it then," he says and she pulls the photo up.

They're both smiling at the camera, and Annie's leaning into his embrace, her head resting against him. The New York skyline is behind them, blurred slightly due to its distance, and it makes them stand out even more. They look happy and it dawns on Jeff that this is the first time he can remember feeling truly happy in a long time. Sure he got a buzz from winning a case, or getting a raise, but this is different. Whenever he won a case, it felt like he had to prove that it wasn't a fluke by winning another one. And a raise meant added pressure to prove that he was worth the extra money. And it's not like he ever told anyone that he was stressed, but it was all so fucking stressful. All he did was work and he sacrificed everything for that fucking firm. He gave them everything he had all in the name of becoming partner, because he honestly believed that becoming partner would make everything better. And yet here he is, starting at a photo of himself with a girl he barely knows, and he's on a boat to see the fucking Statue of Liberty when he normally spends a Friday afternoon in a deposition meeting, and he feels honest to god happy for the first time in forever. He worked and worked at that firm, falling asleep at his desk and taking stacks of files home with him every weekend, and he thought it was leading somewhere, that he was happy, and it turns out he never was. And isn't that just a little bit ridiculous?

"Thanks for this, Annie."

"For what?"

"For making me come with you today. I really needed it."

It isn't enough. Thank you doesn't feel like enough. And he doesn't know what to say because he doesn't think he can make her realise that today's been pretty damn great, because for the first time since he got fired, he doesn't feel like falling into a pit of despair.

"It's alright."

She smiles at him as she says and it and he knows that somehow she gets it.

* * *

They walk back to his apartment from the subway station, and Annie's swinging her 'I heart NY' bag that's filled with so much touristy crap that Jeff can't quite believe it. It's quiet between them and he isn't sure what to say. It's been one of the craziest days he's had in a while, but he'll admit that it was definitely a better option than sitting alone in his apartment with whatever alcohol he could find. He still feels sick when he thinks about the fact that he lost his job and has no idea what to do next. But he doesn't feel quite as awful as he did this morning, and he's even beginning to see the positives that there are to it too. Him and Annie had talked as they'd walked through Times Square, in between debating whether they should try to see if they could get a go on the Ferris Wheel in Toys 'R' Us, and she had asked him whether he still wanted to be a lawyer. And the truth is that he does. Working crazy hours in an attempt to make partner and representing morally ambivalent clients aside, he loves being a lawyer. The thrill he gets from practicing law is indescribable. He loves it. Annie had suggested that maybe it was the firm he was at that was the problem, and that thought spins in his brain as they turn onto his street. He loved the money that he got from working at Hamish & Co and the fact it meant he could afford nice things, but that was in exchange for dealing with ruthless businesses and giving his entire life over to the firm. Maybe the pressure wouldn't be so much at a smaller firm. Sure he wouldn't make as much and it would be nowhere near as prestigious, but he could represent clients who weren't quite so awful, and he wouldn't be expected to constantly prove he was worth his enormous salary.

Of course if he ever wants to practice law again, that means going to college for the next four years. A less than enjoyable prospect.

They come to a stop outside his apartment building. The sun is only just starting to set and it casts a dusky light over them as they stand outside the entrance.

"Thanks again for today," he eventually says, unsure what it is that he wants to tell her.

"It was good to have some company."

"And you got some good photos?"

"Yeah I did."

There's silence one more only this time it's far more awkward. Jeff is extremely aware of the lack of space between them, and how if he took a couple of steps forward and bent his head then he could kiss her. But he can't stop thinking about the age gap, and the fact that they barely know each other, and that he's an unemployed, newly disbarred lawyer who has yet to have one semi-functional relationship, and that she is far too good for him.

"I'll see you around, yeah," he finally says.

She looks disappointed but nods and replies, "Feel free to stop by the bakery anytime."

It's his turn to nod and silence reigns once more. He reaches into his pocket for his door key and she's rocking hesitantly on her heels, the carrier bag still swinging in her hand. She's biting her lip and then before he knows it, she's standing on her tiptoes, leaning in and kissing him. He feels her lips pressing against his and he abandons his search for his keys, instead bending down a little so he can kiss her properly. His hands clutch at her waist, pulling her towards him. She parts her lips and as a moan escapes her, Jeff is pretty sure he could do this forever.

But then she's pulling away and blushing furiously.

"I'll see you around," she mumbles before turning and hurrying down the street, throwing a wave over her shoulder.

He watches her go and he doesn't even care that the doorman probably saw all of that and is now watching him. Because he has a strong feeling that that's the most daring that Annie has _ever _been. She kissed him and he honestly has no idea what to think.

* * *

He hesitates. His hand is clasped around the door to the bakery, and he can make out the customers that are milling around inside. He can see the small queue of people waiting for this coffee and pastries, and can tell that quite a few of the tables are full. But he can't seem to make himself go in. The handle feels heavy in his hand and he can't bring himself to make that final push.

Suddenly he's stumbling as someone on the other side opens it. He's greeted with the sight of a man who looks to be around the same age as him, looking how he would have a couple of days ago, dressed in an immaculately pressed suit with his phone clamped to his ear. He pushes past him without so much as an apology, leaving Jeff facing the open door. The noise from inside is drifting over him, as is the smell of the freshly baked pastries that makes his mouth water.

Taking a deep breath, he walks inside, shutting the door behind him. He pulls off his sunglasses and sees Steph, and a woman he assumes is Shirley, behind the counter, trying to deal with the impatient customers who are waiting to order. He can also see Annie making her way between the tables, collecting empty mugs and plates. He's uncertain as to what he should do, which is ridiculous because he's sure he can count on one hand all the times he felt uncertain around woman. And they all occurred before he turned eighteen. But then she's looking up and she sees him stood by the door. She stops, as if she's unsure if it's actually him, and blushes. So he does the only thing he can think of, he winks at her. If it's possible, her blush deepens.

It takes her a few seconds or so but she manages to compose herself and she gestures to one of the empty tables before disappearing into the kitchen with the mass of dirty mugs and plates she's carrying. He takes her cue and slides into the empty seat, noticing the way Shirley looks over at him. Steph whispers something to her and she raises an eyebrow, obviously displeased with whatever she's just heard. But then Steph adds something else and her expression changes to a soft smile and she nods approvingly. She waves at him and whispers something to Steph who giggles. Jeff suddenly feels like an animal in a zoo.

He's left alone after that and he scans the front page of the New York Times that someone had left behind on the neighbouring table. He's reading an article about the outcome of the Moyles trial that he knew Alan had been working on when a shadow falls over him.

"I rescued the careers section from the paper this morning," Annie says as she places a cup of coffee in front of him. "I thought you might want to see if there's anything good in there. And Shirley said she could get you a brochure for her college if you wanted. She's doing a couple of business classes there and she said it's not all that bad."

She says all of this in a rush without so much as a hello, before waving to another customer who is gesturing for a refill. Jeff wonders if he simply dreamt their kiss from the previous night or if she had misinterpreted his wink when he came in. Maybe she wanted to pretend it had never happened, and he had made a mistake in coming here. But as she moves away from his table, she draws her fingers across his back and smiles shyly at him.

He picks up his coffee and hides his own smile behind the rim of his mug. He wants to think it's a little ridiculous that he's feeling this happy that she doesn't want to forget their kiss ever happened, but he doesn't. Instead he thinks about the fact that two days ago he had already been in work for two hours, slaving away over trial preparation and pretending that he didn't feel disgusted over the client he was representing. All he was thinking about was making partner, and he couldn't even remember when he'd last had a decent night's sleep. It's not like he doesn't miss being a lawyer, he does. But maybe it's not the be-all and end-all. And he can still do it; he just has to do it the legal way this time. This is a fresh start. He looks up and sees Annie behind the counter and she smiles at him as their eyes meet. He grins at her and she grins back before Steph shoves her, pointing out that there are still customers waiting. She pulls an exasperated face before turning her attention to those that are waiting.

Once her shift is finished, they'll escape all of Shirley's questions and go for a walk in the park to figure out what _this _is. He'll tell her that he's not really a labels kind of guy and she'll tell him that that's fine. But when she makes a comment about seeing other people, he'll make it clear that that's not an option, and that will tell her all she needs to know. He'll start at the local college and she'll listen as he rants about the awful teachers there and how he can't believe that he's stuck there for four years. There are times they will fight, say things that neither of them means, and she shall end up storming out in floods of in tears. He'll feel like an ass and drag himself to her apartment in Brooklyn to apologise, even though it's after midnight, and they'll fall asleep together with their legs entwined and her head on his chest.

But for now he's going to read his paper, drink his coffee, and wait for her to finish her shift.

Jeff isn't going make partner. He isn't going to have a corner office and he isn't going to have his picture on the website. And he honestly doesn't care. Because he's got Annie in his life. And if she's in his life then he has a feeling that it's all going to turn out okay.


End file.
